


matching scars of persecution

by zombeesknees



Category: Snow White: A Tale of Terror (1997)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Lilli and Will's wedding night. | Written many moons ago on LJ for a friend.





	matching scars of persecution

They had not asked for their scars. They were blameless; their sole crime had been breathing. People who should have cared for them — should have protected them — had inflicted those wounds. The Church. A mother in name.

The night of their first kiss, as she looked upon the burns and scar tissue latticing his back, there had been a moment of awful understanding. She understood why men could hide themselves away from the world, live like animals, risk death by suffocation. Why it might be better to be swallowed by the earth than to walk amongst high society. 

And she knew then why calling him a savage had been such a curse in his ears. He had come to these woods to hold onto his humanity — it had been his only chance, his final recourse.

Before that moment, she had felt nothing but confusion. She was a lost and heartsick girl, desperately praying that her father would come find her, hoping with all of her heart that this had all been nothing but a fevered dream. The world no longer made sense. Gustav had been nothing but kindness to her all these years, and only one person could have made him turn on her so violently — and while she had always resented Lady Claudia, and seen her as an usurper, she could not comprehend this level of evil from her. Hadn’t she just gone to her to ask for forgiveness, in the very dress she had wanted her to wear to the ball? Hadn’t Lady Claudia smiled at her?

But looking at Will’s scars, she had a burst of clarity: the world was a terrible place, with people who were rotten to the core like windfall apples. Outwardly shining and rosy, but beneath the surface there was nothing but viciousness and decay. That which was meant to foster could just as easily cut. If the Church could burn a man’s family, brand his face with a white-hot cross, for simply refusing to subscribe to their convictions, then it was more than possible for a stepmother to put a dagger to her daughter’s breast.

She reached out to touch the marks of betrayal because she recognized the pain they represented. When he turned to grab her arm, she saw the way his eyes flashed in the rain. There was the memory of the fire reflected there for one dark, aching moment. And then she reached up to his face, no longer frightened or confused or lost. She knew. About so many things. But especially about her heart. It had never skipped like this for Peter, as sweet as he had been to her. In only a handful of days she had seen Will’s worth, and knew with conviction that it surpassed all others. Here was a man much wronged by the world, who had every reason to dwell on hatred and anger — and instead he had become even kinder. He had saved her from Rolf, risked his life for the other men, had shown her softness when the harsh realities threatened to choke her. 

When he kissed her, a gentle and fleeting pressure of his lips against hers, the sadness over their losses seemed to dim. Her heart still bled for poor Scar, as did his, but the pain became bearable. His smile was a comfort, and she had a difficult time pulling her hand away from his face. There wasn’t the time for proper love — not yet. But a hope had kindled within her breast that there would be, eventually.

Then came the apple, and the dreams, and the coffin. 

The next thing she knew was his voice shouting for her to breathe, his hands shaking her, the cold pattering of rain onto her face. She coughed up the bit of apple and felt warmth return to her stiff limbs. She was warmest where he touched her. And the relief written boldly on his face made her dizzy. Never before had someone looked at her with such hope, or wonder, or love. 

When Peter had pulled her onto his horse, she almost threw herself straight off of it. She had agreed to return home with him for her father’s sake, but inside she was screaming to stop. That castle was not her home; it hadn’t been since Lady Claudia stepped within its gates. She had discovered her true home — and it was by his side. Leaving Will felt like swallowing the apple all over again. She might as well be back in that coffin, sinking into the earth. 

And when he stepped out of the trees, stood beside her mother’s gravestone, she knew there was only one choice left. Because her heart had already decided on him, had already erased Peter from any corner he could have previously claimed, and she would only be happy if Will was the only man to ever kiss her again. 

No, her only choice now was: how to finish it. Because Lady Claudia had to be stopped before she could harm anyone else. She had to be punished for her cruelty. And Lilli knew that only she could end this now.

It ended in blood and mirrors and fire. Lilli knew she would dream of that room for a hundred nights to come. She would hear that unholy wailing of a long-dead child and the screams of its misshapen mother. She would smell burning hair and taste the coppery iron of blood on her lips, feel the concussive heat of the flames and the throb of her sliced cheek. That night, in that room, she experienced horrors enough for a lifetime. 

But she left that room. Left it and its terrible evils to step into a cold courtyard frosted by falling snow, as white as the snow her mother once loved. She put her back to that dark castle and knelt to comfort her father, overwhelmingly thankful that Lady Claudia had not stolen him from her as well. Then she looked up into Will’s face, saw admiration and relief mingled there, and knew she was leaving that place with the only things that mattered to her: her father, her lover, and her mother’s locket around her pale throat. 

The scar would be the only thing she’d carry that Lady Claudia had given to her — but just as Will’s scar had made him kinder, so too would this scar make her wiser. Never again would she be fooled by beauty and wealth and polite words. Never again would she accept shiny gifts from strangers. And never again would she put stock in empty titles or names. A lady could still be a monster, a stepmother a murderer, a gentleman a fiend. She would much rather put her trust in penniless men with simple names and warm, empty hands.

Weeks later, after her father’s leg had finally knit back together and he could walk — albeit with a bad limp — they promised themselves to one another. There was no regal ceremony, no fine clothing, no legally-binding speeches from a priest or holy man, and he had no ring to give her. But it was enough to simply say the words _I am yours from this day forth, you are mine to my last breath_ beneath the sheltering branches of the swaying trees. They had both of them had enough of pageantry and religion; and in their home in the forest, what need had they of proving their affections to the world? Her father understood, and blessed, and said little. He, too, had learned several painful lessons. 

The wedding night was far more private than her father’s had been. She was thankful for this as she fell back against their bed of pelts and leaves, drawing him with her. He pushed up her shift as she pulled at his shirt, the rest of their clothes already cast off. He kissed a line along her jaw before pressing a softer caress against the dark red scar. She closed her hands around his arms, his shoulders, his neck, before sliding down past the scars, reaffirming his solid realness. It was difficult at times for her to distinguish the waking world from her dreams; it was hard for her to believe her senses. 

He sensed this, understanding her as he did, and cupped her face in callused hands made strong through hard work. “I will never betray your trust,” he said. 

“I know you won’t,” she said. “You’ve never failed me.”

He kissed her again. She deepened it until they parted to gasp, skin tingling and blood rushing to a dizzying beat. They made love slowly, gently, but with increasing passion, he cautiously and she with abandon. She gave herself over completely to the sensations, losing herself in the rise and fall and sliding friction. But there was a measure of guarded restraint in Will, as if his desire was clouded by fear. Fear of hurting her, of losing her, of doing something wrong—until her fingertips brushed against his beard and pressed firmly over his cheek.

She looked up at him with such awe and love, dark hair tangled in her eyelashes, strands of it plastered to her forehead by the sweat of their lovemaking, and he felt his heart flutter beneath his ribs. He had lost so much in life, had been stripped of everything he’d ever cared about; and he’d been given a second chance. He knew he would not live through such pain again.

“I’m here,” she said breathlessly, pale eyes fixed on his. “I’m here.”

He would be a fool not to take every moment they had. He’d be a fool to hold back for fear of another loss. Who could say how long they would have together? A month, a year, the rest of their lives? But this night they had, this was theirs to share, and he would love her as fully as his damaged heart could manage.

So he cast off his restraint as they’d cast off their clothes and gave himself over to the demands of the flesh. He thrust, again and again, until she couldn’t breathe for crying out his name. He clung to her, so warm and soft and yielding, and thought of rain and miracles. When she ended it was on a kiss, with his tongue between her teeth, and he felt her shudder of release ripple against his body. 

Much later, when the fire had sunk down into glowing embers, he woke to a sob. She lay curled on her side, turned away from him, her hands fisting around the wolf’s pelt. Her brow was furrowed with distress and there were fresh tears on her cheeks. She had drawn her bottom lip between her teeth and was worrying at it just shy of breaking the skin. He touched her shoulder, cupping the curve of it, and she jolted away as if burned.

“Easy, Lilli, easy,” he murmured as she sat up sharply, clasping her arms across her chest. “You were only dreaming.”

“No. I was remembering.” She sighed. Lifted a hand to rub the tears from her face.

His hand closed around her wrist. She looked at him, saw his expression, and let him draw her down into his arms again. “…Does it get easier with time?”

“Yes. In a way. Easier when you have more memories to dull the edges. Better still when they are happy memories. I don’t have the nightmares as often as I used to.”

“I know,” she whispered into his shoulder. She touched his chest, drew her fingers over the steady pulse of his heart. “I used to hear you cry out in the night. Almost every night. I haven’t heard it as often, not for weeks.”

“Did I disturb you?” he asked quietly, rubbing soft circles over her back.

“No.”

“Did I scare you?”

“No. You worried me. Some nights I would sit beside you and hum songs Nannau taught me as a little girl. Brush the hair from your brow. You never woke, and I wasn’t sure if I should have—there are so many stories of nightmares interrupted, and sleepwalkers lost.” She reached up to trace his bottom lip. “I know some of what happened to give you those sleeping horrors. I understand how they haunt you.”

“But not as much,” he said. “Not since you. It’s easier to push back the darkness when you have a light to turn to.”

“Am I that to you?” she whispered.

“Aye.” He kissed her, first on the lips and then at each fading tear track.

“You’re my lifeline, Will. You’ve saved me, body and soul. Through curses and madness.”

“You’re worth any trial.”

She marveled at how natural it felt to lie in his arms, how good it was to fit her body against his and lose all sense of time. Will was her reflection, and together they were whole. And she had no need for mirrors to see the truth: that this was true, and right, and beautiful in a way that her stepmother would never have recognized. In that fashion, she could almost pity Lady Claudia, who had never known real love and unity. Despite everything, there was still a degree of tragedy in that tale—but she refused to spare the energy pitying would cost, not when she had so much living and loving to do.

Lilli fell asleep to the reassuring rhythm of her husband’s heart, and forgot about the monster that had caused her so much pain.


End file.
